underwear and other issues

like it or not, somedays just start with your panties falling down.

we were walking in the doors of the school (only the tiniest bit late) when she grabbed my arm and said, "uh-oh, mama, my undies are falling down."

my little girl in her little dress.
knee socks high and knickers creeping low.

my first grader continued on, "um, mom ... i think i'm going to need some help here."

"some help here" required me (after a quick upward tug of her undies) jumping back in the car. heading home. retrieving a "new pair." texting her teacher about the issue (while fully and safely stopped at a stop light) and racing back to school for the great switch-a-roo.

i know ... you are still stuck on the "panties falling down" thing.
me too.
i mean, like who has this problem? i had a pair of jeans be too loose -- once. when i was 7 -- but i'm pretty sure i've never had a problem with baggy undergarments.

perhaps i'm being too personal.

i apologize.

but it kinda made me stop and think.

it made me think about the blessing it is to have someone in whom to confide; 
to have someone to share with the really personal stuff.

i mean, you can't just tell any old person about your underwear issues, right?
there's some protocol required.
some need for discernment.
some awareness of what's appropriate.

let's face it, boundaries are kind of important when it comes to sharing certain things.

but if that was me (and be assured, it won't EVER be me) who would i tell?

there is something to be said for having someone to talk to ... about any thing. about every thing. even the most personal. the most embarrassing. the most awful.
even the stuff way more awkward than our underwear.

but that's exactly who Jesus wants to be --- that someone.

that someone who can hear and handle absolutely everything. anything. all things. yes, even our underwear issues.

what would i do if i didn't have Jesus to talk to? 
to vent to?
to cry to?
to cling to?

seriously, what would life look like?
i can't imagine.

psalm 62 tells us to, "pour out our hearts to God ..."  i think that means to let loose; to hold back nothing. to share the whole kit and caboodle. i suppose we can't (and really shouldn't) have that same freedom with the people shopping for shoes at target (that happened to me once -- while picking out sandals for bella, a stranger began to pour out her life's story to me -- my kids say i invite this kind of over-communication with strangers. that's another blog post).
no, we can't pour out everything like that with everyone, but we can pour out like that with God.

because as bella said, "um ... i'm going to need a little help here."

and she's right.

we all have our awkward issues.
loose undies or loose screws or what-not, we've all got our stuff. and sometimes we just need someone to tell.

it's not just a kid thing, it's a parent thing ... a people thing.

God created us and cares.
God redeemed us and rescues.
God sent His son and saves.

it's what He does, what He's doing, and what He has already done.

this was excitement over the first day of school a few weeks ago ... not an underwear issue!

graduating from the small things

i know that in just a matter of days she'll march across a stage and receive her diploma. her name will be read and applause will be heard. she'll toss her cap high in the air and pose readily for 100 pictures with her dearest friends.

and i know i will feel it tight in my throat and hard in my stomach and so deep in my heart.

when this happens.

but it's today, today in the small moments, where i think i feel it most.

this final morning of high school when she asked me at breakfast to braid her hair.

i'm not sure how to put that feeling into words.

i've been braiding this girl's long, dark hair for almost 18 years. french braids and tiny braids. big braids and crowns of braids. swim meets and ballet recitals and volleyball matches and a million mornings in the rush before school.
there's absolutely no telling how many times i've stood over this oldest daughter with fingers braiding.

and, yes, i'm sure i'll braid her hair at least a few more times,
but never again before heading out the door before school.

because today was her last day.

all these years.
all these days of waking up early and climbing in a car and traveling away with backpacks and lunch boxes and projects and papers.

all those days finished.

i watched as she and her brother drove off down our driveway together. this -- their final trip to school as a duo. my camera snapping a photo from the front steps and they turn out to the road. their final morning together. these two oldest. 20 months apart in age and close as any brother and sister can be.

and this is where i feel it.


i'm sure i'll shed a tear or two graduation night. but, truly, it's in the small things like hair-braids and a brother and sister backing out of the driveway.

the big moments are great for marking milestones and major accomplishments, but we live in the small stepping stones of life. we live most deeply in the in-between.

in the little things.

and though we'll celebrate what it means to be fully finished with high school on graduation night, it is this morning, in my empty house, that i celebrate what it means to be her mom.

i will always love watching her in the big things ... but i'm so grateful i have been given the gift to have fingers weaving intricately in the very small.

i will wave when they look back

12th, 10th, 8th, 5th and kindergarten!

and there they go.

all five of them out the door and off to school and into the next new year -- the next new thing. the next season of their quick-as-a-wink childhoods.

summer things put away. bare feet covered in school shoes. bathing suits swapped out for new digs. goggles, towels, and pool bags left hanging -- the remnants of summer abandoned on hooks in our mud room.

a seasonal changing of the guard.

backpacks and book bags and lunch boxes now strewn across the kitchen ... staking claim for what is rightfully, once again, theirs.

no need for sun screen this morning.

emily asks me to braid her hair.

i can barely stand for the mixture of emotions tangling around my feet, threatening to topple me over as i crouch before them in the their cleaned-up state, snapping pictures and capturing a moment and trying my best to remain calm. the quick click of shutter matches the beat of my mama-heart. it's the rhythm of right now. the staccato sound of click.beat.click.beat. tapping out the message of this morning: one.moment.in.time. 

because this day will never happen again. today all five of them head off to school. same day. same morning. same hour. same direction.

somehow, we have been handed this precious gift of perfect coordination.

it's a first, and it will be a last. 

today, our little bella begins kindergarten. and today, our almost grown up emily begins her senior year of high school. the other three spaced across the in-between-years, like glue holding together these two wildly far apart places. 

and it's all this mother can do to keep from dropping to her knees and clinging to the feet of these children, weeping, "stop! don't move. don't change. don't leave. don't grow up!"

except that that would be so entirely weird i'm sure all five of them, including the cute kindergartner, would race right out of the house forgetting their lunches and backpacks and brand new-first-day-of-school-shoes.  

so, i will calmly take a few pictures.

i will capture this sweet moment as they pause in one place ... under one roof ... for one purpose ... at one time.

i will remind them to grab their random first day of school things from the counter. i will hurry them along and try not to fuss too much. i will smile and put mama kisses on their cheeks ... even on the cheek of the boy who is now shaving. i will smile hard and hug tightly and let go appropriately.

i will wave when they look back. 

i will not think about the fact that, next year, on this day, emily will already be moved into her college dorm. next year, she will not ask me to braid her hair. woman pauses in her typing. should she delete that last sentence? delete such a thought? why go there? right?

but i will be brave:  leave the sentence. let the children go. capture the moment. embrace the change.

wipe the tears.

wash the breakfast dishes.

rejoice in the day.

and give thanks for it all.

kindergarten with mrs. paine!

5th grade with mrs. houston!

after bella's half day, we had lunch at the minnesota arboretum with our buddies,

 "little emme" and miss di.  (thanks for great pictures diana)!

all i really need to know i learned in kindergarten

somehow, yesterday morning, i found myself in a group of parents sitting in small chairs at small tables with a whole bunch of really small kids scattered around us.  it was kindergarten round up time.  and bella and i were there.  somehow.

as we prepared to leave the house friday morning, the thought running through my head was, "surely not."  surely it can't be time to think about kindergarten for this little gal.  but it is.  it is time.  and she is ready.  i am not sure chapel hill academy is ready for our little girl with her giant pink bow and her sparkly silver shoes...but she is ready.  on our way there she told me, "mom, you don't have to carry me.  i will walk into kindergarten roundup like a big girl. i don't want the roundup kids ("round up kids," how cute is that?) to think i'm a baby."  and though i agreed to the "no carrying" thing... i didn't agree with the baby part.  she is my baby.  she will always be so.  shhh...don't argue.

we arrived on time and she pulled my hand all the way through the parking lot right up to the front doors.

so our time spent at kindergarten round up achieved a few things.  it clearly showed me this is where bella needs to be next fall.  i was sort of holding on to the thought of delaying kindergarten and giving her (okay, giving ME) and extra year home.  but the couple of hours spent at "roundup" helped cement our decision to send her.  that means she'll get out of the car next fall with her older sister and brother and i'll watch all three of them walk into the same building.  you can start praying for me now, please.

another thing i learned at kindergarten roundup was that i am fairly certain i am going to be the oldest parent in the group.  yep.  after meeting with all the parents yesterday, that was pretty clear.  they had us all go around and tell a little bit about ourselves and our families. though we didn't exactly have to give our ages, i am pretty sure there wasn't another parent there with a child anywhere close to entering her senior year of high school.  so unless there's an octogenarian hiding back at home, i think rick and i just might lay claim to being the old ones in the group.  sigh.

but it was sitting in the parent meeting and listening to the school administrator talk that i learned my final, and most important, kindergarten lesson of the morning.  somewhere between discussing pencil grip and playground time, she began to speak about the importance of first time obedience.  now, i have to tell you, we are BIG believers in first time obedience.  it is a BIG deal in our home.  we have raised our kids to understand that phrase and exactly what it means. not that any of them of them are perfect at it, but i am pretty sure they could all give you a fairly accurate definition of the term.

first time obedience is doing (1). what is said...(2). right away...(3). with a good attitude.  seems simple enough, right?  like i said, we've talked that phrase blue in the face.  it is part of our everyday lingo in the mcnatt home.  but somehow...when mrs. hansen continued on to say, "if any one of those three parts is missing, it is not true obedience, is it?"  i found myself swallowing hard.  "if any one of those three parts is missing, it is not true obedience."  and somehow i wasn't thinking of my kids, i was thinking of myself.

you see, there's  been a lot about this year that has looked like obedience on my part.  i have been obedient to God in making this move and picking up my family and starting over 1000 miles away from home.  i did what He asked.  i did it when He asked.  but that third part, with a good attitude,  is the thing that gets me.  i've had a lot of people compliment me on being obedient to God and supportive of my husband in this move.  i've had at least a hundred women say to me, "i am not sure i could do that if i was asked."  and somehow i've kinda stuck a feather in my cap and patted myself on the back a bit.  i was obedient. i am supportive. right?  

and it might, very well,  look that way to the outsider.  but i know what my attitude has been on the inside...and if true obedience is having a good attitude while following God's commands then i really can't be labeled as a truly obedient woman.  and mostly it is not what has come out...mostly it has been what has stayed in.  does that make sense?

"they grumbled in their tents and did not obey the Lord."  ~ psalm 106:25

so though we aren't exactly living in tents, i needed to be reminded that any kind of grumbling is disobedience.  and as we begin to pack up the house this weekend and prepare to move in a few days, i probably needed to hear that simple kindergarten lesson yesterday more than anyone (young or old) in the group.  i needed to be reminded that my attitude is just as important as my actions.  we have a really big week ahead of us as we leave this lake home and set up another.  this is going to take some deep digging on my part.  if you've ever moved before, you know what i'm talking about. and, by the way, didn't we just do this???  moving with 5 kids and 2 gigantic dogs also creates just a bit of chaos.  i am sure somewhere about wednesday afternoon i'll be wishing for my magic-moving-wand.  you know the one where you just wave it and say something clever like abbra-ca-dabbra-cala-ma-cace-please-put-everything-into-it's-place!  then point it at the messy house and the multitude of boxes and after a quick poof of smoke everything is in the right spot and it all looks perfect.  yeah, that wand.  if you have one, let me know.

because it's easier to have a good attitude when everything is perfect and in place, right?

what i really need to chant though is God's word.  i need to chant His promises and His prayers.  because the absolute truth is, i cannot do it on my own. no matter how how hard i try and how good i want to be, one thing will go wrong and i'll be right back in the middle of my bad attitude.  moving is hard.  life is hard.  keeping a good attitude only comes when we keep ourselves close to Him. i am not sure i learned that in kindergarten, but i have certainly learned that lesson in life.

"for our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name." ~  psalm 33:21

"above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."  proverbs 4:23

so we learned a lot in our first time to kindergarten.  i, clearly, learned more than bella. she had fun: went on a scavenger hunt, made an art project, ate a snack and listened to a story.  i had to come face to face with not only my age, but my disobedient heart. in 1988, roger fulghum published the book, all i ever need to know i learned in kindergarten.   as a high school english teacher, i never really bought into that theory.  i used to tell my students, that though fulghum was clever in his writing, they still had an awful lot to learn in my senior english class.

but perhaps i should have given him more credit.  perhaps he was right.   kindergarten does have a lot to teach...regardless of your age.

the longest summer (ev-ah)

"there shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart."  ~ celia thaxter

this past week, two of them started back.  next week, two more will go, and the following week, the fifth begins.  the school bell is ringing and the longest summer ever, is ending.  of course my feelings are mixed, as i write this morning.  i am a girl who has always embraced the back to school bustle.  i loved it when i was in 5th grade and i love it now as a mom of five.  don't get me wrong, it couldn't be crazier. the details are many, the supply lists are long, the forms are formidable.  we spend countless hours and hundreds of dollars in target readying the children with new markers and fancy binders and all that educational-jazz.  this year, my two oldest will be given ipads at high school and my 7th grader is also encouraged to bring an ipad to class for note taking.  yes, ipads. things certainly have changed since my own school days.  i remember in 7th grade being thoroughly impressed with the metallic cover on my spiral notebook and a pen which changed colors by clicking a button.

thankfully, this staggered leaving of my children does make the close of our summer-chapter a little more gentle.  slowly they are emptying out of my home and heading off into the world of learning.  the littlest girl will only be gone three days for preschool, and for that, i am glad.  she loves school like i've never seen a preschooler love school.  every day asking me, "when do i get to go, mom?" she knows her letters, can write her name and counts to 20 without a hiccup...this tiny girl is ready.  she'd probably like to take the ipad with her as well, but no, she gets a red book bag and some brand new crayons.

summer is over.  it is, however, a little hard to completely grasp that thought when we are still living a vacation kind of life.  i am certain the cold weather and piles of snow will snap us quickly into the correct (and serious) line of thinking.  but right now, i am not quite sure how to transition the children from lake-life to school bells and homework.  just a few mornings ago, i came close in failing to wake the kids up on time.  you see, there was this sunrise --- and it kind of emptied my mind of all mundane items, i.e., waking children for school. these lake sunrises hold power.  i come down every morning to something new.  each morning different.  always me, my coffee and my time with God...but every morning we've been in this house, the sun has greeted me in a new outfit.  always different.  always beautiful.  always i am startled.  i thought to myself today, "now, how in the world am i supposed to handle the average things of life with this right outside my window?"  will i ever grow tired of it?  will i ever walk past and not stop and stare?  from up in this house on the hill i am drawn to go down and sit on the dock.  i have spent many a morning in slippers and pajamas camped out at water's edge.  but now we must return to school:  make breakfast and pack lunches,  find socks and braid hair.  and getting five children ready and off to school takes every bit of my concentration.  i might just have to invest in some massive blinds to keep me on task come morning time.

this week the children have come home and headed straight for swimsuits and fishing poles.  they waste no time in shedding their school-ish things and stepping back into their leisure.  we love this.  i know for sure, come next week, tyler will be doing the very same thing.  i won't be surprised to see him in his kayak or with a fishing pole in hand before showering for high school.  where most freshmen on the first day of school (girls at least) will be carefully arranging hair, applying makeup and picking out perfect outfits, my soon-to-be-high-school son, just might smell like fish.  and strangely enough, i'm okay with that.

long summer fades finally away from our view...away from our sun-tanned hands and sunburnt noses.  we squeezed a lot from it though.  the children got out of school in mid-may as southerners and head back in late august/early september as northerners. that little logistic of the move worked in their favor.  they'll probably never again have a summer quite so long.  we've definitely added those extra weeks to the silver lining column.  it has been drawn out for other reasons beside the calendar though -- that goes without saying.  any of you who have been reading along in these past months know we've had some marathon moments to push through in the high heat of these days.  for me, summer has always meant something along the lines of footloose and fancy free:  bare feet in green grass, cold lemonade in hand, sprinklers on the lawn, beach towels and good books scattered around our house.  though we have had our share of sweetness, i probably wouldn't categorize this as our most carefree summer. not exactly.  thus my title:  the longest summer (ev-ah).

and so we end it.  this weekend officially will mark its close.  i have to be honest,  i kind of feel relieved.  yes, like, "whew...we made it."  that's the feeling i have sitting here this morning madly typing away.  and i know it will be the feeling when i watch my two teens drive off to high school next tuesday (oh. my. goodness!)...when i watch my junior high daughter and her elementary school brother climb out of our suv...even when i walk the littlest girl and her red book bag into her preschool classroom in two weeks.  "whew...we made it!"  we somehow survived the longest summer ever.  i mean i know this transition stuff isn't exactly over.  we've still got some things to get through.  emily will walk, as a junior, into a brand new school next week.  (yeah, THAT'S easy - not)...  and, for heaven's sake, tyler BEGINS high school next week...that's no small thing either.  we've got some stuff to do... some hurdles to jump...some bridges to cross.  we've got a new chapter to begin. change can be so, so hard, but isn't it also, sometimes good?  at least it's good for us.

yes, it's time to head into a school year which will be filled with new lessons to learn,   but i can't help but think also about the learning we've done in this long, long summer. summertime may fade slowly away this weekend, but it leaves us ready for a new chapter and i give thanks today for the learning.

some pictures from our final weeks of summer...

yeah, she knows she's cute... uh-oh.

when the kids are out on the water...cooper always sits waiting and watching.

"To see the Summer Sky is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --

True Poems flee."  ~ emily dickinson

asking. speaking. listening. trusting.

this has been one of those weeks which would be pretty hard to sum up.  a week rather difficult to wrap up.    it is friday night and i'm in bed early.  the hamster wheel has finally stopped spinning and no one seems to need me.  no one is calling. nothing is pressing.  sure there are piles of life in some state of disrepair...dishes in the sink...baskets of laundry...random stuff out of order...children to tuck into their beds.  but for the most part i'm done.  the week is winding down.  slowly. softly. quietly. finally.

but as i sit here typing, i'm pretty sure, as much as i'd like some rest, i don't want it to all be over. i don't want it really to end.  this was the final week of school for my kids.  yesterday my children walked through the doors of perimeter for their last time as pcs students and last night tyler walked across a stage and received his 8th grade diploma -- officially graduating from a place we've all called home for many years.  this week brought with it the end of a chapter.  the end of our time in a world which has impacted our family in a way i can't possibly put to words.


last week i underwent an unexpected surgery removing a mass from my breast.  this week another type of cutting.  another type of removal.  another type of pain.  saying good bye to a school, to a people, to an extraordinary place in time.  we aren't leaving officially until mid july, but for us, the school bell in georgia won't ring again....and this is unbelievably hard.  harder than i thought it could be.  certainly much harder than i want it to be.


i think i did a pretty good job this week keeping myself numb and together and slightly aloof. i  did my very best to keep the emotions in check and the tears at bay.  it wasn't easy.  but it was one of those weeks where i felt like i had no other choice but to be tough.  it was one of those weeks where i was certain if i started to cry, i wouldn't be able to stop. have you ever felt that way?  it isn't all bad.  i mean so much of what brings me to this sharp pinnacle of emotion is the pure joy and blessing of it all.  watching my 14 year old son, arm in arm with his childhood friends, young boys turning the corner into young men.  it was watching my sarah up on stage with her best girlfriends in her final talent show act at perimeter school singing and dancing to "we go together."  it was connor running to meet me yesterday afternoon with flushed cheeks, his last time wearing a pcs uniform, slightly rumpled and kind of dirty, of course.  those uniforms have been hanging in our closets and folded in our laundry room and discarded dirty on our bedroom floors for a decade now.  there were so many sweet moments this week as we wrapped up our school year and our time at perimeter.  too many to count.  words and hugs and hands held tightly.  the searing beautiful slice to my soul --  we love and we are loved.  is there anything greater?

ty introducing his mom at graduation 

in the midst of watching my oldest son graduate i also had the distinct privilege of being the commencement speaker last night.  i got the call a couple of weeks ago from the committee,  "jody, the class voted and they'd like you to speak at graduation." i was stunned with that news. as i shared last night with the audience, my first reaction was to get all weepy...but that quickly turned into feeling like i just might throw up.  i wasn't sure i could do this. i mean i knew this class well and loved them deeply, but speaking seemed an impossibility on a night like this, in a week like this, at a time like this.  i wasn't sure i would be able to get through the evening as just the proud mother of tyler, let alone take on the task of addressing these 79 teenagers and an auditorium full of their families.  i was overwhelmed. i mean it,  completely overwhelmed with the thought.  but, because i am a strange woman, i said yes.   "i'll do it. i'd be honored."


24 hours after saying "yes", i found out that i'd need not only to prepare that week for a speech, but also for a surgery.  i saw my breast surgeon tuesday and he delivered the untimely punch that he'd like to remove a troublesome mass (potentially scar tissue - but had to be sure) from my breast and he wanted to do it right away.  i would need to fit that into these final two weeks of school's ending, graduation planning and speech writing.  so as i sat there in his office digesting this news, my thoughts kind of went like this: "okay, so now i truly have an "out"...everyone will surely understand if i pass this opportunity by and hand off the speaking responsibility to someone else.  surely there is someone else not juggling a quick surgery and biopsy results a week prior to graduation. just call them back and tell them, sorry, i can't do it."  i talked to myself like this from the doctor's office all the way to my car.  and as i began to pull out of the parking garage i wasted no time in going directly to God.  i had barely paid my ticket when i started in with my words,  "tell me what to do, Lord...be clear...tell me what you're up to...  give me an answer fast Jesus, because i'm kind of confused here...floundering, in fact...hello God, it's me, jody, again...i thought i was supposed to be spending these next couple of weeks writing and working on a speech...does surgery change all that? help me out here. God? are you there?  are you listening? God? God? God?"


the monologue in my head hardly slowed, never stopped.  i just kept talking all the way home -- and not only in my head.  i mean audibly. if you happened to be driving on I-85 that tuesday afternoon, you may have noticed an odd woman in her black yukon talking loudly to herself behind the wheel -- hands motioning and head bobbing and shaking. all the way home i just talked and talked and talked.  i just told and told and told stuff to God.  i seriously was almost to my street before i realized i hadn't stopped for a breath.  and what's even more important, i hadn't stopped for one moment to listen. i kept asking God for the answer, but that entire 40 minute car ride home,  i never got quiet enough to hear what He had to say.  isn't that crazy? what's crazier, is that this is how i operate so often. i'm pretty good at opening my mouth, but forget to open my ears...my eyes...my heart.  oh for heaven's sake jody lynn, when will you learn?  be quiet. be still. just listen.


i pulled into my driveway and sat for a few minutes.  finally quiet.  finally still.  the impact of a second surgery set in...the craziness of the entire situation began to sink in...but in that stillness, in that sweet solitude inside my stopped car on my empty driveway i felt very strongly God saying, "just do the speech jody.  stop your ranting and raving and wild questioning of me, and just be quiet and do the speech."  and i had my answer.  sometimes it's like that.  clear as day. clear as writing on a wall.  but i first had to stop.  i had to be still.  it just took a few minutes...but i had to be quiet and listen.


and over the last couple of weeks as i have prepared for last night's speech...as i have worked on the words and the message and the timing ....i cannot even explain how God has used this time to work on me.  the surgery took place smack dab in the middle of it all.  more stitches and more sore ...a little more battered and a little more bruised...but reminded, once again,  God isn't finished with me yet.  God is always at work.  He isn't trying to wear me out, but He is wanting to reel me in.  He is wanting to pull me closer. through these crazy twists and turns of life, He is drawing me to Him.  and sometimes it hurts.  hard good byes, unpleasant surgeries, emotional speeches...come closer to me jody.  come closer. eyes on me, daughter.  it was the message He put on my heart  for those graduates.  "fix your eyes on Jesus -- the author and perfecter of your faith."  all last week i typed up those words and practiced them in front of the mirror.  i must have said that 100 times as i prepared to face graduation night.  fix your eyes on Jesus.  oh, isn't it amazing how God works?  those graduates may have voted for me to be their speaker, but God knew i, too, would need this message getting through this emotional time as well.  He wastes nothing friends.  nothing.  that unexpected surgery and the wait for biopsy results kept me raw...kept me close...kept me focused on Him.


i have to tell you, i was probably as scared of delivering that 20 minute speech as i was of that one hour surgery removing what could be more cancer -- maybe even more so.  it is crazy to think, but on the top ten list of greatest fears, public speaking is actually two steps higher than cancer.  (i just googled that).  can you believe that? actually, i kind of can after this past week. i mean i can do the public speaking thing, but something about this night and this audience and this moment in time felt HUGE to me.  it felt serious and grave and completely out of my reach.  i was so nervous.  i wanted to focus only on sharing with those graduates something good from God, but i had to first take my message to heart and listen to my own words -- fix your eyes on Jesus.


that night is over.  the speech went well.  i have sighed many sighs of relief today.  i am so glad i did it and so thankful the kids asked.  but mostly humbled to have a part in an evening like that.  we are so thankful and humbled to have had a part and a place in a school like this ...all these years.  i am not sure i'll ever be able to look back at these last two weeks and completely understand how God poured all that He did into these 14 final days.  it doesn't make sense to my small brain. and though i don't always understand the hand of my God, i am always learning, more and more, to trust His heart.   i know with complete confidence,  no thing happened this week which He didn't ordain, order and direct.  


all things hard and all things good for His glory alone. sometimes we are required to speak...and sometimes we just need to be quiet and listen.  i'm learning. 


"fix your eyes on Jesus --- the author and perfecter of your faith." ~ hebrews 12:2

something new

there has never been a first day of school that i haven't been excited about.  i mean it.  i am kind of nerdy that way.  i can remember the jitters and butterflies and eagerness of my elementary years like it was yesterday - lunch boxes, sharpened pencils, a clean book bag and maybe even a new hairstyle.  i remember high school - the amount of time it took selecting exactly what i would wear on the occasion of this all important day...the ridiculous amounts of time applying eyeliner and lipgloss.  lying in bed on the last night of summer, my head too full of thoughts and hopes, my stomach too full of nerves.  even as a small child i understood fresh starts and fell in love with the idea of new beginnings.


as a high school teacher, it was much the same.  how amazed i was to find that even the teacher got a good case of the butterflies.  even the teacher would lie in bed the night before restless with excitement.   i tried to pretend i was cool.  but i never was.  i couldn't wait to see the 120 different students who would saunter into my classroom.  period after period they came.  some strangely suave and sophisticated, but most awkward and gangly and unsure.  and i loved them all - at least for a while... at least on the first day of school.  i wanted to take each student by the shoulders, look them hard in the eyes and conjure up for them the wild adventure of this new school year.  of course i would have been fired by 5th period if i had actually carried out this plan.  so i refrained from any shoulder grabbing and did my best to grab their attention (safely) from the front of the room, reading or handing out quotes...

"twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you you didn't do than by the ones you did do.  so throw off the bowlines.  sail away from the harbor.  catch the trade winds in your sails.  
explore. dream. discover." ~ mark twain

we were off on an adventure together.  we were beginning anew.  what came before was gone.  it didn't matter what the report card said back in june, we were starting fresh in august.  clean blackboard. clean kids. clean slate.


motherhood has brought just as much enthusiasm for the first day of school.   one by one, i have watched my children traipse off into the world of academics.  four of the five are now fully engaged in education.  over the years i have shared their excitement on the eve of a first day -  shared the fears and flutters too.  of course motherhood has also brought some of the back to school bittersweet -  it always does.  first day of kindergarten.  first day of high school.  that kind of thing.  always wondering how can it be? how did this happen?  year after year i have watched them leave their summers behind.  i have watched them trade bare feet for tennis shoes and bathing suits for uniforms.  i photograph their faces in attempt to capture them ...memorize them...pause them.


this year, i rolled into town at midnight.  my children already soundly sleeping.  i missed the last minute preparations for school's first day - leaving all of that to the capable hands of my husband.  bella and i had traveled to ohio for my mother's 70th birthday.  but even at that midnight hour, i climbed into bed and lay their with building excitement for the next day. my children would begin something new.  our family had never before had this combination of 10th grader-8th grader-6th grader-3rd grader-and one still at home.  this was a new year.  a new beginning for us, for our family.   and as i pondered the wonder of it all...(yes, pondered), i was struck with how this new school year brought even more cause for celebration.


we had ended last year at such a different place.  a hard place.  their final week of school was marked with my surgery.  that week was a blur for all of us.  by the time the year actually ended, we were all numb and worn out and just plain thankful it was over.  our family barely crawled to the finish line.  lockers and desks were emptied and backpacks came home and heaved into closets.  everything put away.  everything shrugged off.  the children had a mother in pain and a lot of questions and fears and we were desperate for summer,  hungry for healing.  we all wanted to move on and away from our madness of may.


but we did.  we moved on.  though we seemed to limp out of the last month, june and july brought good news and strength and hope and health.  and this august we begin strong.  again.  we begin ready for adventure.  arms open to the wild ride of right now.  i walked my children into their classrooms this morning,  pushing bella in a stroller and snapping pictures.  and at goodbye i wrapped my healing body around each one of them whispering words of encouragement.  it was normal.  we felt new.  and we were starting over.  Lord, will you allow us to live in the present?  will you help us not forget the blessing of beginnings? will you keep us thankful for fresh?  humble? close to your heart?  everything new.  how easy it could be to just go through the motions, but i want to remember.  i want to take my five children by their shoulders and conjure up the wild adventure of the right now, of this very moment.


so summer is over.  it will not be a season quickly forgotten.  all of us are a little changed.  a little taller.  a little wiser.  a little rested.  a little sun burnt.  a little excited. a little altered. 


and all of us, a little ready...for something new.

"for I am about to do something new.  see, I have already begun! 

 do you not see it?

I will make a pathway through the wilderness. 

 I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."  ~ isaiah 43:19